


The Handsome Collection

by TauntedOctopi



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:26:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22317811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TauntedOctopi/pseuds/TauntedOctopi
Summary: Literally just a collection of old and new Handsome Jack smut fics I've written.
Relationships: Handsome Jack (Borderlands)/Original Female Character(s), Handsome Jack (Borderlands)/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 102





	1. Bar Night

**Author's Note:**

> The first few works in this series were written in 2016. Please forgive me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Jack make a mess in a bar. (2016)

You have to hand it to Jack; his sex drive always seems to overpower faint disgust for his - and your - surroundings. And here you are. Some godforsaken hole-in-the-wall bar on Elpis. You're fairly sure his ex girlfriend owns the place, actually, but now he's so god damn powerful, Moxxi doesn't dare complain about Jack swaggering in like he owns the place. 

Never mind she tried to kill him more than once before he became Handsome Jack. Back when he was just a programmer, a genius with a hero complex. There's something dark and mysterious, something terrible about him, and he no longer bothers to conceal it. Jack knows he has the six galaxies by the proverbial balls, and he loves every minute of it. And you? Well, you love him. 

You'd started out as just another Hyperion employee, some average looking girl to answer ECHO calls that he didn't want to deal with. Until Jack had taken a liking to you. Not that this was a bad thing, of course. Jack was gorgeous, rich, and powerful. Not to mention he fucked like the god he viewed himself as. 

Of course, your little fling was as discreet as possible; whether because Jack didn't want to be seen to be "taken" or because he thought his enemies might use you against him, you weren't sure. You didn't mind the sneaking around - if anything, it just made things all the more exciting, all the more romantic. Okay, so maybe you weren't exactly textbook sane, either.

The fact that the two of you are cozied up in the secret room below a sleazy bar is definitely amusing, definitely exciting, and more than a little sexy. Maybe you're just drunk; there's no denying that one, and there's definitely no denying that Jack is getting to the better part of wasted, too. It's not like the booze you're used to, either. No cheap beer or cask wine, here. You're pretty sure the whisky you've been drinking cost as much as an entire town on Pandora. Crazy, really, how the cost of things is nothing to Jack. How money is something of little concern.

Speaking of Jack... In your mostly drunken state, you decide it's a good idea to crawl into his lap, straddling him. He doesn't seem to mind; on the contrary, he smirks at you, with the air of a man who knows he's going to get lucky. 

"Hey, Handsome." You bat your eyelashes at him as solid hands rest comfortably on your hips. It doesn't escape your notice - or your thoughts - that these are powerful hands, capable of murder and terrible things. Of course, you know that those hands can be gentle. Can caress your skin lightly. Can brush dust or blood from your face. Can push strands of hair from your face when he thinks you're asleep. 

"Call me Jack, honey." His playful smirk makes it clear that he knows you weren't actually calling him by his nickname, but more commenting on his looks. Even with the mask, he's gorgeous, mismatched eyes glinting with lust, drunkenness, and something that's just plain Jack; part monster, part man, pure seduction. 

"Jack," you practically purr his name, draw it out slowly, liking the way his hands stroke up your curves, the way his eyelids drop closed just a little at the sound of his name in your voice, soft and eager and oh, so desperate to please him, and only him. 

"God damn, pumpkin, I've missed that sexy little voice of yours," he nuzzles into your neck, cool lips pressed against the sensitive skin briefly before he bites down gently. It's not merely a sensual gesture; it's a reminder of what's to come later. 

Jack absolutely loves leaving marks all over you; bites, hickeys, bruises, hand prints... God, he'd probably tattoo his name on you somewhere if he had the chance. Not that you'd mind. In your opinion, Jack's a hero. Everything he says, soft and earnest, whether across a table or whispered in bed, you take as gospel. Plans for the future of Pandora, stories of murder and mayhem, or the sweet nothings of pillow talk. You love it all, entirely bewitched by his words. 

"Well, it so happens that I've missed your big sexy everything." You press a kiss to his cheek. When in doubt? Feed his ego. Not that it needs to get any bigger. Jack's ego is enough to fill Helios, Elpis, AND Pandora. Not without good reason, of course. But still, the man sure was arrogant. 

"I have something... big for you, cupcake." Understatement; you can feel exactly what he's talking about pressing into your thigh. Those damn jeans he wears are almost obscenely tight, leaving little to the imagination. Still, you play along with his innuendos. 

"Hmm... I have somewhere snug and warm for that..." You kiss along his jaw, enjoying the obscene flirtation even more with alcohol in your system, "I can't guarantee that it won't get a little wet, though."

He grins at you; God, he's taught you well, but sometimes you still surprise him. He loves that about you. 

"Might be a little small for me," he doesn't want to admit he's comfortable with you, that he does in fact dislike not being able to flaunt you like the universe's most valuable jewel, so instead he stays with obscenity. 

"I'm sure we'll make do." You assure him, hips unconsciously rolling so you're grinding over the very obvious bulge in his jeans.

"Hmmm..." The little sigh is unconscious too. 

While he's briefly distracted by the almost blissful feeling, you strip off your dress, leaving you in a very lacy, very skimpy set of lingerie. If Jack was the sort of man whose jaw dropped at such things, this would have been one such occasion. Instead, his eyes gleam with lust.

"Oh, baby. Come... To... Papa," his hands slide up your curves to cup your ample breasts, thumbs brushing across your nipples lightly, enough to make you shudder and your pussy drip with want for the man currently sliding one hand down your curves again, lower, lower... 

You moan as a single digit brushes your swollen clit; at the sound, his fingers move lower, his free hand literally tearing the thin scraps of lace that are - were - your panties.

"Holy shit, babe, you are... So fucking wet." Jack slides a single finger into you, then another. There's a soft, obscene noise as he probes a little deeper, sliding both fingers knuckle deep before curling them. You whine your approval, start rocking almost instantly on his thick fingers, but he stops you. Slowly, carefully slides a third finger into you; your moan is shameless as he starts to thrust his fingers into your tight, wet cunt. You're always so wet for him, so eager for his cock, his fingers, his tongue. God, he loves that, loves that you enjoy his cock as much as he does, if not more. 

"I did not... Come here... To fuck... Your fingers!" You huff in protest, though it seems a little weak when you're riding his hand like your life depends on it. 

"Well, no freakin' kidding, pumpkin. Don't you worry, you're gonna be riding my nice fucking cock soon enough." 

You process that through a haze of pleasure; he wants you on top? It's so rare when that happens, but you love it, love watching such a dangerous, powerful man come undone beneath you. 

Hastily, you unbutton his pants, make short work of the zip. An eager hand wraps firmly around the solid thickness of his cock; you can't help but smirk at the little groan he makes. Of course, you won't be truly satisfied until his different-coloured eyes are rolled back in his head, the beautiful moans he makes when he comes falling from those stupidly kissable lips. 

Speaking of his lips... Your left hand strokes up his cheek, into his hair. You, of course, like its usual style, but you honestly prefer his lovely just-fucked look, locks of brown and silver falling into those eyes that you adore. Your right hand leaves his cock, lifts to rest on his cheek as you lean up and kiss him. You're bold when you're intoxicated, and he's just too beautiful not to kiss. Hell. You feel like he needs to know that, but you don't want to drunkenly mumble against his lips, so you just kiss him instead. 

Of course, he doesn't let you have control of it for too long; before you know it, one of his hands is in your hair, dragging you closer, his tongue dominating the kiss, sweeping your mouth. You cling to him desperately, grinding against him in a pathetic attempt to get him inside you. He laughs mockingly against your lips, but clearly appreciates the eagerness; with one hand, he guides the thick, velvet-soft head of his cock to your entrance, rubbing along the soaked slit teasingly. 

"Jaaaaackkkk," you whine, nails digging into his shoulders. "Don't be such a fucking teeeease!" 

There's that grin again.  
"Alright, cupcake," Jack smirks at you, pressing into you just a little, "how's that feel?" 

You savour the feeling of just the head of him pressing into you, stretching you just the tiniest bit. 

"So good," you breathe, "more.. Please.."

His smirk is half mocking, half lustful as he pushes deeper into you, ignoring the little wince of pain as his thickness stretches you. A shameless groan of satisfaction falls from his lips as he bottoms out, buried entirely to the hilt in your tight warmth. 

"Well, shit, cupcake, this feels freakin' good," he leans back, rests a hand on your waist and one behind his head, the clear expression and posture of a man expecting... Something. 

Luckily, you know what he wants. You start slow, rolling your hips lazily. It takes a lot of control to do that, particularly when you know that it feels amazing if you just start bouncing on his cock. But you don't want to do that first. Don't want to get yourself - or him - off too quickly. No. You want to savour every moment of this. 

He's shameless, muttering soft curses and hissing quiet moans. You know he can be louder, usually when he's on top, rough and violent. Thank god he's letting you take control of this one. 

One handed, he grips your waist, bucking up lazily to meet each roll of your hips. A soft cry of pleasure leaves you at each jolt of him inside you. For a short while, the room is quiet, but for the soft, wet sounds of you beginning to ride his cock, and the occasional quiet groan or sigh of approval. It's strangely intimate, despite the lewdness of the act. 

Of course, Jack can't do the same thing for too long.  
With a barely uttered "bored", he lifts you, stands, sweeps the empty shot glasses from the table and lays you down on it. Eagerly, you hook your legs around his waist, drawing him in deeper.

"Oh, that... is more like it," he mutters, clearly pleased by the deeper angle. You hum a soft noise of approval, a little preoccupied with threading your fingers into his hair, tugging lightly on the soft strands, your other hand digging into his back. He lifts you, ever so slightly, so your hips are off the wooden surface of the table. 

"Mmmm, Jack!" You gasp; the new angle feels so good it almost hurts, his cock hitting the sweet spot inside you in a perfectly timed rhythm. 

"You like that, pumpkin?" He knows you do, of course he does, he just wants to hear you say it, wants to hear you plead and praise and beg before you come undone around him. And, like always, you don't disappoint him. 

"Y-yes," you moan, "so good.. Jack... I'm so close..." 

Jack knows; he can feel your tight walls contracting around him, feel your body beginning to tremble. He wants that. Wants to see you fall apart, all thanks to him. Of course it's a huge ego boost. Not that he needs that. 

He pulls out of you briefly, just enough time to flip you over onto your front before slamming back into you, one hand seizing a fistful of your hair and pulling, hard, as his thrusts become increasingly brutal. He's chasing his own release now, too, free hand slipping down between your legs to rub furiously at your clit. 

You're glad you're pressed flat against the table, although your hands scrabble for purchase on the flat surface as he slams into you, over and over, until your vision blurs and your entire body trembles as your climax overwhelms you, a fresh rush of wetness allowing Jack to fuck you harder, practically growling. 

"Fuck.. Pumpkin, cupcake, sweetheart... God, you feel so fucking good... You're gonna take my cum like the good slut you are... Fuck!" With a drawn out groan, his hips buck wildly, slamming into yours repeatedly as his hot release fills you.

Even when the last drops of his release have filled you, he continues to grind into you for a moment, eliciting soft whimpers from you. Not that he's quiet; there's the odd quiet moan of approval, before eventually he pulls out of you. You don't have to see his face to know there's that slightly mocking shit-eating grin on his face; it's the same look he wears every time he comes inside you and watches the fluid leak out of you. 

You reach for your ruined panties in an attempt to clean yourself up a little. He watches with a smirk. 

"Nice job, cupcake. Keep pleasing me like this and I'll have to get you to come live in my apartment." 

You're not sure if he's joking or not, so you smile and shrug. 

"I'll do whatever you want," you tell him. It's not a lie. He presses a kiss to your forehead. 

"Appreciate the loyalty, sweetheart. Ah, what the hell. Come on, let's get the hell out of here." 

You hastily tug your dress back on, slip back into your shoes. You're immensely grateful - and surprised - when he gives you his coat. 

Pointedly ignoring Moxxi, Jack leads you to the fast travel station nearby. 

"Come stay with me for a few days? In my apartment?"

You weren't sure what he had said at first - was he really asking this? He seemed to be, and you certainly weren't about to refuse. 

"Sure." You agreed, like it was no big deal. 

Was it just you, or did a genuine smile cross his face as you stepped into the fast travel beam, together?


	2. Sugar Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're Jack's sugar baby turned girlfriend. Written in 2016.

One of the things about being involved with Handsome Jack, of all people, is the fact that you've had to accept that sometimes - most times - he likes to spend stupid amounts of money on you. More money than he needs to. It's not like you NEED any of the things he buys you. You'd rather he spend that money on feeding and housing all the people who starve on Pandora. Saying that, you're pretty sure he could afford to do that anyway and would still buy you expensive things. 

You've come to accept it. Even if you don't like most of it. Sure, there are occasions where you need expensive designer clothes and diamonds, like public events that, as his... What, girlfriend? You're required to attend. 

But your closet is stuffed with designer clothing, gorgeous shoes, the best brands of makeup. Natural makeup, because Jack remembers every little detail, from your dislike of the colour red unless it's lipstick, to your preference for natural makeup, to your fondness for pastel lingerie. He doesn't just remember things that benefit him; he remembers your favourite food, your favourite wine, knows that pastel lilac is your favourite color. Who'd have thought that Handsome Jack of all people would be a fantastic boyfriend, and not just in bedroom matters? 

Of course. He WAS married once. You haven't seen any pictures of his wife, and don't want to. She belongs to John. To the Jack who was just a suave, genius programmer. You belong to this Jack. The one with the mask. The one who snarls and softens whenever you ask to visit his daughter. The one whose expression softens when you voice concern for her. You belong to a predator, a monster, a madman. And you couldn't give less of a fuck. 

Jack was, in your opinion, perfect. If you ignored that he was a cunning, manipulative, violent killer. Which you did. You loved how powerful he was; he was rich, he was charming, he was gorgeous, and he was great in bed. Okay, so maybe you were used to being spoiled rotten by him. Who cares? He had twenty years on you, but you fit him perfectly. 

You wake slowly, face buried in an impossibly soft pillow. You could have slept for far longer, but for the caress of lips and teeth in the flesh of your shoulder. You stretch languidly, knowing that if you turn to your front you'll be met with mismatched eyes, a wicked smirk. It's rare that you see Jack without his mask, so you aren't expecting any different. 

"Wakey wakey, princess." There it is. That coercing voice, soft and persuasive enough that he could probably talk you into anything. You crack one eye open, then another, rolling onto your side slightly. 

"Only princess?" You pout teasingly, "if I recall, a king's lady is usually referred to as a queen." 

It's early, you must have set a new record in the book of provoking Jack. He must be in a decent mood, though, considering he just smirks at you. 

"This is true, but it doesn't sound as endearing." Jack flashes you a dazzling smirk, rough fingers stroking up your bare thighs, under the expensive black silk that makes up your babydoll nightie. Although you pick out your own attire, Jack sometimes picks things out for you, and those are usually your favourites. 

"Getting soft on me, Handsome?" You raise an eyebrow, playful smile in place. You're probably the only one he lets actually tease him. 

"Never." The bite he places on your throat is only half gentle. You giggle; throw back the heavy covers and lazily crawl off the enormous bed. The sheets are silk and velvet, two fabrics you're now very familiar with, thanks to your extensive wardrobe. 

"And just where do you think you're going?" A perfect eyebrow is arched in your direction. 

You blink innocently. "Shower?" 

You continue on to the adjoined bathroom; you don't need to look behind you to know that Jack's following. The bathroom, like everything else in this penthouse, is beautifully decorated and expensive. The shower itself is large, with a built in shelf for different soaps and products that you didn't even know existed. 

Turning the water on, you slip out of the silk nightgown, sighing as cool morning air hits your skin. You've only just stepped into the steaming shower when a pair of solid arms lock around your waist, pulling your back tight against a strong chest. Warm lips press into the nape of your neck. Warm. With a slight start, you realise he's taken off his mask. 

You're hesitant in turning, not because you're afraid, but because you want to give him one last chance to back out. You know he hates taking off the mask, both for vanity reasons and the fact that he's oddly insecure about it. 

You don't mind his real face; hell, in a way you prefer it, despite it being a little scary. His green eye is, in reality, white, unseeing. You're not sure if he's entirely blind in that eye, and haven't asked. More prominent though is the blue-tinged scar that covers most of his face. A vault symbol, burned into his face by Lilith. God, how you hate her for that.

"Well, hey there," you say finally, voice soft; wet, soapy fingers gently trace the scar. You want him to know that you aren't scared or repulsed. He offers an almost sheepish grin but doesn't comment on the lack of mask, instead changing the topic. 

"Lemon soap again, huh?" One blue eye blinks at you. 

"It's the one you always use," you explain, "I like having your scent on me." 

Bastard of a man he may be, but Jack is still human. Still a man. A very possessive man, and that little comment is right up his alley. He can't help but feel a little smug, a little twinge of affection that he promptly ignores. In truth, he's afraid to show love and affection properly, instead trying to convey affection through expensive gifts and amazing sex. Not that you'd ever complain about the second one. 

You kiss him; you're so used to the slightly cool lips of his mask, so the warmth and surprising softness of his real lips almost instantly becomes addictive. He backs you against the marble wall, lifts you up effortlessly, solid hands grasping and squeezing lightly at your ass, holding you in place. You can feel his arousal pressing between you, against your stomach, long and thick and throbbing with need.

"Looks like you're stuck between a wall and a hard place, pumpkin." There's that smirk again, and somehow it's even more attractive on his real face. 

"A hard place?" You raise an eyebrow innocently, "I have somewhere for that," you kiss his neck lightly, "I'm sure you'll like it." 

The playful teasing comes easily to you; urged on by the soft groan he makes, you reach between your bodies to grip his cock firmly in one hand, set a steady rhythm of tantalising strokes. 

"You sure you want to tease me like this?" His voice is low and dangerous. You giggle.

"Of course not, I just want you inside me already," you tell him; you go to guide the head of his cock, slick with his own pre come, to your wet entrance, but he stops you, a wicked glint in his good eye.

"You can ask for it far more nicely, kitten." It's a subtle order, and you both know it. Pouting, resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you bat your eyelids at him. 

"Please, Jack, I just want to feel your big cock filling me up..." The vulgarity is still new to you, but thrilling nonetheless, particularly when he rewards you with a chuckle that turns to a low grunt as he pulls you down onto his cock, filling you up with one deep, hard thrust. 

There's a faint stinging pain at the feeling of being stretched so quickly; usually he goes slower, or makes sure you're wetter. Clearly, this morning he's just too eager. With one hand he turns the water off, biting and sucking at your neck as he holds you steady, beginning to roll his hips up slowly. He's only just got a good rhythm going when he stills inside you, carries you from the bathroom to the bed, still buried inside of you with you squirming, desperately craving some sort of friction. 

He has you pinned into the impossibly soft mattress, smirking down at you. 

"So fucking eager," he grins his approval, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist as he withdraws almost fully; you whine at the loss, wriggle beneath him, desperately trying to pull him back in. 

"Jack!" You whine, draw his name out in a long plea for satisfaction. 

"Yes, pumpkin?" God, this smug bastard knows EXACTLY what he's doing. 

"Please!" You beg, "goddammit Jack, please just fuck me already!" 

He must have been waiting for you to lose your temper and beg him; his grip on your left thigh is vicelike as he slams back into you, thrusts bruisingly rough and deep. You gasp and moan, arching your back, nails clawing down his biceps and back as he practically fucks you into the mattress. 

"Oh, sweetheart, you look so fucking good like this." His lips, warm, scarred, but real, find one of your hardened nipples; he sucks almost roughly, but it isn't painful. His thrusts, however, are on the border between pleasure and pain; every time he slams into you, he hits your sweet spot, hard and fast and painful. 

Your fingers tangle into wet, dark brown hair, toy with the silver streak as his mouth works your nipple eagerly, his free hand cupping your other breast, palming slowly in time with his mouth's ministrations.

"Baby, pumpkin, sweetheart... Fuck! You. Are. So. Fucking. Tight," the last half of his words are more groans than anything else, punctuated with a particularly deep, sharp thrust that eventually sends you over the edge. You cling to him, eyes squeezed shut, nails dug into his biceps as your release crashes over you, eager cunt tightening around him, urging him to his own release. 

He curses, a stream of filthy and creative words as his hips buck against yours erratically; his fingers ball into the sheets as he releases inside you, stream after stream of hot, wet come filling you. He groans halfheartedly before practically collapsing on top of you, head nestled comfortably between your breasts. You stroke his hair slowly, kiss at his sweat-dampened forehead.

"Amazing," you manage to whisper as you feel his cock soften inside you. He pulls out of you, rolls to one side. You can feel his release dropping out of you, onto your thighs and the expensive sheets. A finger dips beneath your legs, swipes at some of the liquid. Before you can comment, he's licked his finger clean. Kinky bastard. You smirk. 

"Taste good?" 

"Mm." His eyes close briefly, lips curved into a satisfied smile. 

You know that soon, you'll both have to dress for the day. That he'll go back to being Handsome, as if he ever stopped. As though to preserve the moment, you curl up against him, trail your fingers up and down his chest. 

"I think I love you," he says casually, and you almost choke on your breath, because this is Handsome Jack. He doesn't do love. He has strings of lovers. Girlfriends. But he doesn't do love. Does he? You're overthinking this, despite it being perhaps important to do so. Instead, you go with your heart. 

"I'm pretty sure I love you too, Jack." 

Only time will tell if he means it, or if it's just another Handsome lie.


	3. Office Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're Jack's secretary, involved with his body double. Adultery ensues.  
> (2016)

Your nails tap lazily against the polished wood of your desk, where a small mountain of paperwork - honest to god paper - was building. You'd been ignoring it mostly out of spite (because who the hell didn't use an ECHO nowadays?!) but there was a good chance some of it might be important. 

So here you are, stuck reading through it all, taking notes on your ECHO to send through to Jack. Only, so far, there's nothing that's remotely useful to him in any of this. You're pretty sure Jack would have let you out of it for some sort of sexual favour, but you're trying so hard NOT to do that sort of thing when you're kind of, sort of, maybe somewhat involved with someone else. Of course, the fact that someone else happens to be Jack's body double just complicates things further. 

Jack often likes to make lewd comments, and when he found out that you and Timothy were sleeping together, he became somewhat insufferable. It was even more annoying that they looked identical, a fact that Jack had started to make subject to his latest comments.

"So, do you sometimes picture me when he's fucking you, babe? Ever moaned my name? Ever wondered what the difference might be?" 

Shit like that, which is made even more annoying by the fact that you can answer 'yes' to all those questions if you wanted to be honest. They're identical. It's hard NOT to picture Jack. And yes, so maybe you've moaned his name once or twice in the heat of a climax. So what? And God, of course you've thought about the difference between them. It's hard not to. Jack loves to fuck you roughly and throughly, like he's claiming you. Timothy is the exact opposite, though you sometimes think maybe Jack has the potential to be just as sensual as his double if he felt like it.

God, here you are again. Thinking about it. Just as Jack comes sauntering in to check on your progress. 

"Still working on that paperwork, huh?" He's doing this innocent little head tilt, pretending he doesn't know just how infuriating this shit is.

"It's, quite frankly, full of useless shit, sir." You're supposed to call him that, so you do, especially lately when his name seems just too intimate. 

"Well, kitten, you could just... Stop doing that paperwork? I have something else for you." There it is. That suggestive look. Again. 

"I'm good, Jack." You tell him, "I told you, I'd rather do the work than the sexual favours." Not necessarily true at this point, not when he's inching towards you like a practised predator approaching prey. 

"Aw, c'mon sweetheart stop lying to yourself." He's behind you now, brushing hair from your throat, "you and I both know it's me you want." His lips are at your ear, "why skip around the truth, kitten?" 

You should say no; even though you aren't really with his double, you know you have a good chance of forming a relationship. But as awful as it is to admit, Timothy just doesn't make you as weak in the knees as Jack does. Sure, he's a lovely guy. Great in bed. Sweet, caring. And annoyingly gorgeous. But he's not Jack. Maybe you're crazy for wanting a potentially insane, extremely arrogant, narcissistic killer over his much sweeter double. You realise that really, you don't care. 

"Not on the desk again." You manage as an answer. A magnificent feat considering Jack won't stop kissing at the one little spot on your throat that he knows makes you melt, only when it's his lips there though. 

You don't want him to push you face first into the desk again and rail you from behind. God, you just want a moment of intimacy with him, or at least the closest thing to intimacy that you can get. So it's surprising when he sets himself down in your chair (leather, comfortable) and pats his lap, like its a goddamn invitation. Eagerly, you straddle him, letting him bury his face in your hair. For a brief moment you wish he'd take off the mask he wears: you've only seen his real face once, don't think he should hide it. But you know he won't. His own vanity - and perhaps a secret lack of self esteem - prevents it. 

Jack's being considerate, almost, letting you at least feel as though you're in control of this little situation. Of course you aren't, but right now you're going to take advantage while you can. 

Your idea of taking advantage differs from, say, his. Your idea involves kissing, your hands already moving to his belt despite the very distracting preoccupation of his mouth on yours, his tongue sweeping your mouth, dominating the kiss. He bites your lip as you unzip his pants, slide your hand down to palm at his rapidly hardening cock eagerly. Just feeling him grow solid, twitching against your hand, makes your cunt ache and drip in anticipation. 

Big hands push your skirt up, lips curve into a smirk against yours when he discovers your lack of panties. His thumb presses against your lips; trying not to smirk too much, you suck the digit slowly, try not to moan when his now-wet thumb travels south to rub lightly at your swollen clit, spreading your increased wetness. Two fingers slip inside you, thumb still pressing circles on your clit. 

"God damn, kitten, you're so wet," there's that smug goddamn grin again. "This all for me, baby?" 

You nod, a bit preoccupied by setting a steady pace with your hand wrapped firmly around his thick cock. There's something nice - and ego boosting - about having such a powerful man's cock in your hand, the little groans of approval he's making, the soft, wet sound of his fingers pressing deeper inside you, curling, drawing out little whimpers from your lips. 

"Fuck, babe, I need to be inside you, right freakin' now." His lips are urgent on your throat, fingers withdrawing from you; he adjusts you on his lap, shifting you. 

Keeping your hand around his cock, you guide him to your entrance; god, even just the head of him is so thick and dripping pre-come. You can't help but moan as you slide down onto him, nails digging into his shirt as he fills you, stretching your inner walls with a low moan of approval. God, you've missed this. It's not like his double isn't any good in bed, but he's not Jack. He's always too careful. Jack, meanwhile, knows just how to fuck you. Knows how to make you melt to his touch. 

"God, baby, I've missed you." Cool lips press against your throat, big hands holding you close as he starts to buck his hips up into you, slowly at first, like he's savouring the feeling of being inside you once again. 

"I've missed you, too, Jack," you admit, rocking your hips eagerly. The time for playing is over; you want him, bad, and when you rock your hips just right the soft head of his cock brushes your sweet spot. You moan; his hands seize your hips in an iron grip, pulling you closer as his hips buck wildly, drawing long, loud moans and barely coherent pleas for more from your lips.

"That's it, kitten, scream for me. Beg for more." His hair is coming out of its neat style thanks to your fingers running through it constantly; you like it better this way. Makes him look a little more... Human. 

Either way, you're eager to comply with his demands, especially when one hand loosely grips your throat, thumb pressed against your windpipe. Just another little kink of his that his double doesn't share. 

"Jack, please..." You moan, voice a little breathy thanks to the pressure on your throat. 

"Please... What?" He's trying to sound demanding, controlled, but even his breathing is a little ragged from the pleasure of you tightening around his cock. 

"Jack... Please... I wanna- please let me cum!" You can't help begging now, especially with the way he's slamming up into you. 

"Aw, kitten, don't you sound sweet, begging me like that?" He bites at your throat, grip tightening, "go on, pumpkin, you can come for daddy now." 

God, he's so dirty. Your nails dig into his chest as you bounce desperately on his cock, moaning with each slam of his hips against yours. You want to hold out longer, but it's been so long since you've been with him, really him, and he knows just how to get you to fall apart in his arms. 

There's a moment, just before you reach climax, where time seems to slow. You're blissfully aware of every movement, every arch of your back, every smack of his hips against yours. Just as soon as the moment began, it shatters; moaning and gasping for air, you fall apart in his arms, entire body shaking as your climax wrecks your body. 

"That's it, pumpkin. Ah, shit, that feels... So... Freakin' good..." Jack manages to groan out before pulling you tight against his chest, holding you still as he fucks into you, burying his face into your shoulder as he finally comes inside you in hot, thick spurts. You can feel his ragged breathing, your fingers raking through soft, grey streaked hair. 

"God damn, baby, even better than I remember." His voice is a little muffled, but you can tell he's smirking. 

"Not so bad yourself," you manage, just waiting for him to go back to being Handsome, rather than just Jack. When he'll push you off his lap, smooth his hair back and wipe his own cum on your lips like a reminder. 

It's bound to happen eventually. Only, it doesn't. He lets his head rest on your shoulder for a moment. Tugs your skirt back down so you have some semblance of decency. Presses a soft kiss below your earlobe. 

"You and me, baby." He mumbles. "Say it's you and me." 

It's a stupid idea to trust Jack, to form anything resembling feelings for him, but fuck if you're not already too far gone. 

"Of course, Jack," you reassure him, as you always have in these moments of weakness, "you and me. You always have me." 

He sighs, sounds almost tired as he lifts you, sets you on your desk, tucks himself back into his pants, presses a kiss to your temple. 

"Thanks, pumpkin."


End file.
